The deaths of more homeless residents are being counted this year after local officials implemented a formal process to identify them – the latest symptom of the intensifying conversation around homelessness in Wichita.
As of September, 46 homeless people had been confirmed dead by Sedgwick County Regional Forensic Science Center investigators. That’s more than the 42 that were counted all of last year through anecdotal numbers compiled through a collaboration between the Wichita Police Department, service providers and homeless advocates.
The shift is the latest move to address homelessness in Wichita, following the planned opening of a new emergency winter shelter in a former elementary school, which city officials aspire to make a multi-agency campus, and amid talk of a “more aggressive” ordinance to remove homeless encampments.
Homeless advocates have been requesting a more formal record of deaths for years, and the forensic science center decided this year to classify homeless people among its deceased following media reporting that highlighted the uncertainty surrounding past counts.
When first presented with the data, registered nurse and homeless advocate Kathy Bowles leaned back in shock.
“Oh my god,” she said.
Bowles has organized an annual homeless memorial service since 2006. She is one of several people who have kept track of such deaths in an effort to honor the humanity lost at the end of each year.
The 46 people the county has counted is double the number she’s compiled so far this year.
Dr. Shelly Steadman, the director of the forensic science center, says the decision to start systematically identifying the homeless deceased began after an increase in data requests, citing an inquiry from The Journal in September 2023 as the first.
The Journal and KMUW-FM, Wichita’s NPR affiliate, reported this year on the annual homeless memorial and how the Wichita Police Department and homeless advocates had to coordinate known deaths to determine how many died each year. After the publication of that story and another by another media outlet in January, Steadman said she received emails from the city of Wichita and the county about who was responsible for such data, and that “spurred the need” to track the metric.
The data helps paint a clearer picture of what affects the health and safety of those experiencing homelessness. A majority of those that died were killed by a drug overdose, or “toxicity,” in the language of the coroner. Injuries to the brain, heart or lungs also got a mention.
The data should be considered a sample size of deaths, as not every deceased individual in Sedgwick County is examined by the coroner. Plus, the determination of whether a person is homeless usually comes from environmental clues, such as whether a body was found in an encampment, or whether the police inform forensic investigators that they know the deceased was homeless.
Each cause of death is determined by investigators at the center. However, records stop at what ultimately killed a person. For example, a 53-year-old homeless man died of a pontine, or brainstem, hemorrhage in June. It’s not known whether the hemorrhage was triggered by a history of high blood pressure, a head injury or a reaction to substance use.
Like Bowles, Mandy Griffin, the director of operations for the ICT Street Team, and Jon Piper, the clinical care coordinator and paramedic, were also stunned by this year’s number. The ICT Street Team is a volunteer-run mobile clinic for the homeless that also keeps a tally of the dead.
“This one should have never happened,” Piper said, pointing to the listing of an 80-year-old man who died from hypothermia in February. “I hate that. That’s a public safety problem.”
Without death certificates or police records, Bowles, Griffin and Piper can only lend educated guesses as to the causes and manners of death. Someone died of cardiomegaly, an enlarged heart, which could be symptomatic of alcoholism. A few died of blood clots in the lungs, which could have occurred from CPR or from being sedentary.
One man died of a brain injury, which could have been from substance use or a vehicle collision. Last year, three homeless people were known to have died after being hit by cars.
“Generally, when you would look at a list of essentially 50 people (of the general public) that died, you’re going to see a lot more health conditions than drug use. So this is gonna stand out as a lot of drug use,” Griffin said. “But it also makes me wonder if there’s secondary things, like maybe the deaths aren’t all because of the drugs, but that’s kind of the easiest label, for lack of a better word.”
The grim data reveals just how deadly homelessness can be. The homeless are commonly exposed to the elements, from sub-zero temperatures to 100-plus degree days, while lacking consistent, affordable access to medical care. Many homeless people also live with mental illness or substance use disorder, another layer of vulnerability.
Sedgwick County Commissioner Ryan Baty said the data was very telling, but should be considered a baseline.
“Data tells a story. We know it’s not complete data. We should consider this as a sample size if anything, but it allows us to pivot and to respond,” he said, adding that the data helps officials and policymakers determine what resources need to be prioritized when serving the homeless.
The symptoms of substance use disorder among the homeless are numerous and often debilitating. If someone’s high a lot, basic needs become less of a priority. High blood pressure gets neglected. Basic wounds are ignored. Cardiac issues arise, both from a stimulant that’s ramping up one’s heart rate and the general stress of living outside.
“There is a sense or urgency to do something. Because what’s happening all over the city, it’s not acceptable. This isn’t who we are,” Baty said. “It’s not acceptable to allow our most vulnerable to live on the streets without intervention.”
Majority of homeless die from substance use
The homeless, officials and medical professionals agree, are courted by drug dealers, which increases substance use in the community. Drugs killed people as young as 19 and as old as 67.
While not every person experiencing homelessness uses drugs, substance use is common, and intervention is necessary to save lives.
“I want people to have more compassion about substance use disorder because it can happen to anybody,” Bowles said. “I think a lot of people are predisposed to having addictive personalities. There’s some genetics, but there’s also environmental. A lot of people out on the street right now were either in extreme poverty or in a family where there was substance use. Their life course is oftentimes set.”
Griffin and Piper agreed that substance use jumped out as a leading cause of death when they saw the data.
“Drug use, yeah, which is contributing to mental health. But nobody wants to look at that and realize the correlation: People with high drug use have several mental health issues,” Griffin said.
“A lot of people self-medicate,” Piper added.
Another nuance that Bowles wants the community to consider is the extreme addictive nature of the current drug supply.
“It’s astronomical. They say the first time you use meth, you’re addicted. You crave it," she said. "It can very quickly come to a point where you need the methamphetamine to have emotions at all.
“We have to look at some of the causes of why people use drugs rather than saying, ‘They made a choice.’ I think that’s patently unfair to just presume that everybody makes the choice to be dependent on a substance. It’s unfair to presume that anyone with a mental health disorder that’s on the street is there because they want to be."
What all those interviewed take away from the data is that the homeless community needs targeted, compassionate intervention – fast.
“Step one was to track. The benefit of all of this is there are now more resources coming. There’s a cohesive strategic plan coming,” Baty said, referencing Wichita’s upcoming multi-agency center to serve the homeless.
“The most important, in my view, is that we changed the conversation around homelessness in this community.”
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Stefania Lugli is a reporter for The Journal, published by the Kansas Leadership Center. She focuses on covering issues related to homelessness in Wichita and across Kansas. Her stories are shared through the Wichita Journalism Collaborative, a coalition of 11 newsrooms and community partners, including KMUW.
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